By: Ariel Ryann, Kit Horn


Speaking with you has been like sharing crayons

or rolling down hills while lying down

but now it more newly numbs my tongue

cooing patience and virtues

with you so demure and

my own coy eagerness

to no longer be. We can both see

I am thick and sweet

like your syrup stacks of poetry

drizzled onto me

like maple tree

taps pumping,

sap dumping

miles high.

And you say you envy me,

“’Cause you can spend time with you

whenever you like,” and I imagine

fabric muffling

your chest’s thumping

in the night.

And it’s remarkable,

outstanding, fulfilling to know

that my existing on a mattress for oh so

long could make you—

oh, someone like you—no,

I mean to say—may I please

ask you if I can

make you

as happy

as you ought to be?

‘Cause a sheet of cloth could still keep us

as far apart as we are now. Oh,

as far apart as we are now,

I can only assume that your shirt must feel warm.

-Ariel Ryann

O Green World

I remember that winter

when we trekked across the desert,

down in old Nevada,

to escape the Arctic glare.

Instead, we got snow-coated cacti

under a radiation-tinted sun,

and long emptied towns,

gone up in the dried out flames

of dust and fallout, just to discover

they’d closed the Grand Canyon due to ice.

-Kit Hornby

Heaven’s Gate

I realize now as you

allow yourself to be set ablaze

for a greater purpose than what

we had been promised once upon

a long time gone that maybe it really

wasn’t worth it in the end for the fee we

were quoted when it was all just figures and

schematics for a falling star that brought with it

a trail of madness and long gone minds that once

belonged to royalty and scientists who gave it up as

they embraced a greater wisdom than our minds had been

prepared to hold in the primordial ooze of our criminal creation

-Kit Hornby

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